"Give her the dish-cloth, and go find your own!" I said.
Annie O'Brien's temper was like a lucifer match. At the command she threw the cloth in McMullins's face.
Quick as a cat would spring upon a mouse, McMullins was upon her; and the report of the slaps that fell quick, and followed each other fast on the side of O'Brien's face, sounded through the room.
It was in vain that I called upon them to stop. O'Brien was enraged. She caught up an iron rod that lay upon the window seat, and struck McMullins a blow upon her forehead that brought blood.
I called the other women to the spot, and they were soon parted.
I sent McMullins out of the room, took O'Brien, who was white with anger, by the arm, and led her to a seat.
"Sit down!"
She looked defiance for a moment; then, did as I commanded her.
"What kind of behavior is this, Annie O'Brien?" I asked, sternly.
"She slapped me in the face—slapped in the face by that low hussy!"